The Great Powers Outage (25 page)

Directly ahead of me across the fields was the Dr. Telomere's Potato Chip Factory. It would be a long walk out of my way to go up to the road that led to the factory, so instead I struck out in a direct route across the fields. As I hiked over the rich-looking soil, I saw that there was a bumper crop of spuds waiting to be harvested.

Upon reaching the end of the field, I stepped onto a large, empty parking lot. With no chips being made, the factory was deserted. Besides, the Red Menace had lured away any remaining employees for his PseudoChip operation.

I headed toward the entrance and was surprised to find the main door unlocked. I let myself in to a vast, airy lobby. Hanging from the ceiling nearly fifty feet above my head was an enormous mobile made of dozens and dozens of giant, floating potato chips. I recognized it immediately as the work of the famous artist Crispo—who had only recently been revealed to be Professor Brain-Drain's alter ego. The massive chips swayed eerily in the otherwise silent space.

“Hellooo,” I called out. “Is anybody here?”

There was no reply, so I made my way toward a main corridor, assuming it would lead me into the factory. When I was only a few yards away from the hallway, a barrier came plummeting down with a loud, echoing bang and blocked the entrance. I spun around, wondering how I was going to get into the factory when I spotted a single unmarked door at the far end of the lobby. As I made my way toward it, I realized there was a small sign on the door: THIS WAY! Funny thing, I could swear that a minute earlier it hadn't been there.

I went through the door and found myself in a long, tunnel-like passage. I began following it. At first the walls of the corridor were bare. But then I came to a stretch that was decorated with framed art. The first piece was a portrait of the Dr. Telomere advertising character. It was that familiar image of a potato chip wearing a derby, a bow tie, and pince-nez. The next portrait down was also of Dr. Telomere. I recognized it as the version of the character that had appeared on the bags when I was in kindergarten. It looked a lot like the current incarnation but with some subtle differences.

As I continued, the portraits became more and more old-fashioned. I was clearly following a backward progression of the visual look of the Dr. Telomere character. What had first been pictures of a cartoon potato chip became more realistic looking as I moved along. By the fifth portrait the potato chip was fully clothed. By the eighth, it had hair, and two pictures farther it showed a potato chip with a trim beard. From there the character began to get increasingly more human looking. By the time I reached the end of the line of portraits I was staring up at a painting of a man who looked just like the person pictured in the
Li'l Hero's Handbook
under the entry for Dr. Ambrose Telomere. He still wore a derby, the bow tie, and the glasses.

I was so fascinated by the portrait gallery, it took me a moment to notice that the corridor had come to a dead end. There wasn't even a door—just a screen with a keypad. I pushed one of the buttons and the screen lit up.

PASSWORD, PLEASE, it said in glowing white letters. I hesitated for only a moment then punched in the letters F-R-E-E. No sooner had I done so then the wall slid away. A brilliant white light flooded over me.

I stepped out into an open area filled with the most enormous equipment you could imagine, all sitting somberly quiet. I was in the chip-making heart of the factory.

My mouth dropped open. I had wanted to see this ever since I was old enough to know what my father did for a living. He had described it numerous times, but he always refused my pleas to see it. He insisted that it was too dangerous for a child. Then, without warning, the factory burst into life, and it became obvious why he had thought so.

A huge, dump truck–size bin, hanging from enormous cables, lurched forward until it hovered above a gigantic, clear glass hopper. The bottom of the bin suddenly dropped open, and potatoes rained into the hopper. Inside, I watched them getting a bath as scrubbers and brushes and a continuous shower of water removed any dirt that remained on them. From there, the squeaky-clean potatoes emerged and began rumbling along a conveyor belt. It carried them toward an enormous clear drum that resembled a cement mixer. There, I could see the potatoes being tossed and turned as they rubbed up against a sandpaperlike surface that bit by bit was scuffing away their skins. At the narrow base of the spinning device, peeled potatoes were emerging and continuing on their path down the conveyor belt.

The next step was the slicer. This was a nasty-looking implement that was mostly hidden from view. Whole potatoes tumbled into it, but paper thin slices came out below. At this point, as if the potatoes hadn't suffered enough abuse, the slices dropped directly into a river of bubbling oil that coursed its way along a narrow channel. I wondered how it was being heated now that my father didn't work here any longer.

I followed the sizzling trail as it rolled ahead, the potato slices getting evermore golden as they sailed along in it. Just as the chips were reaching their perfect color, mechanical arms with baskets for hands began dipping into the superhot oil, removing the chips in batches. From there the river of grease circled back to where it had begun and where more potato slices plunged into it.

Meanwhile, the finished chips were being deposited onto yet another conveyor belt. This one shook them gently, getting rid of any excess oil. Finally, the chips passed under a gentle snowfall of salt before dropping into a large funnel-shaped bin.

As I stood right in front of the bin, a parade of empty potato chip bags passed beneath it. One by one, each bag was filled to the top, then sealed.

The smell was amazing! I couldn't resist reaching for one of the bags. As I did, a voice surprised me from behind.

“Please do help yourself!”

I swung around to find myself facing a very old man with a neat goatee. He wore a bow tie, pince-nez, and a derby.

“Dr. Telomere?” I ventured.

“Of course,” he replied. “I've been expecting you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dr. Telomere

“How . . . who . . . what?” was all I could get to come out of my mouth.

“My name is on the bag,” he replied as he grabbed one of the packages of chips from the assembly line. “But my picture has changed so much over the years that I doubt anyone would recognize me anymore. That's how I'm able to move about this factory without even my employees knowing who I really am. At least back when I still
had
employees.” He chuckled. “The hall you entered through containing my portrait gallery isn't seen by anyone I don't
want
to have see it.”

“You
must
be Dr. Telomere,” I agreed. “You're included in the
Li'l Hero's Handbook
, and it's never been wrong.”

“Ahhh!” His face lit up as I held up my copy. “So you find that book handy, do you?”

“It's fantastic.” I beamed. “It even told me how to find you.”

“Yes”—he smiled—“I did include that invitation when I had the book printed.”

“YOU created the
Li'l Hero's Handbook
?” I said in amazement. “There's no mention of an author or publisher anywhere inside. That was the first mystery I noticed about the book when I found it on sale at the Mighty Mart a few years ago.”

“Yes, it was my one and only publishing venture.” He nodded.

“You must have sold thousands of them,” I gushed. “And I'll bet hundreds of other people have found their way here to meet you before me.”

“One would think.” Dr. Telomere nodded. “I had displays of the handbook set up in every place in town that sold my potato chips.”

“I remember the display,” I interrupted. “It said ‘All the Secrets of the Universe E x p l a i n e d ! ' Who could have resisted that?”

“Apparently, everyone.” He shrugged. “Everyone, that is, except you.”

“What?!” I exclaimed.

“It's true,” he said. “I sold only a single copy—the very one you bought. It confirmed two things I had always suspected. One was that no one should ever go into publishing if they want to make money.”

“What was the other thing?” I asked.

“That the people of Superopolis are almost totally lacking in curiosity.”

“I can confirm that one,” I admitted sadly. “Even at my school they seem to frown on questions. Lately I've been asking about the early years of Superopolis's history, but nobody else seems to care. With my friends, though, I was able to discover that the story involves the S.S.
Befuddlement
.”

“You are absolutely correct,” Dr. Telomere said with a smile. “And if you would like, it is a story I would be happy to tell you.”

“I'm dying to know,” I said eagerly.

“You are indeed curious.” He chuckled approvingly. “Well, the story begins, as you have guessed, aboard the misnamed research vessel the S.S.
Befuddlement
. I say misnamed because the ship was in fact a floating library of scientific study, and its passengers were anything but befuddled. The name was purposely chosen to deflect attention. You see, the ship carried the greatest assemblage of scientists ever brought together in one place.”

“What kind of scientists?” I asked.

“Oh, all kinds,” he replied. “There were zoologists who had accumulated a remarkable collection of animal species below the decks. The ship had astronomers who charted the night skies and explored the mysteries of the cosmos. Geologists on board had made discoveries about the very origins of the Earth itself. And there was even a botanist who had investigated plant species from around the world in an attempt to breed the hardiest varieties of the most useful crops. The ship was a wonder of science, and it was all thanks to the financial support of the seventeenth Lord Pincushion.”

I perked up in surprise at the familiar name.

“No, not the one you know today,” Dr. Telomere pointed out. “His ancestor. He was a patron of the sciences and used his considerable wealth to support their study. For many years the
Befuddlement
sailed the globe. It was on the return from one such trip, with the ship's hold filled with specimens, that they sailed into a harbor to unload. The botanist was particularly eager to empty the holds and be back to sea quickly. You see, the ship's next scientific journey was to a little-known dot in the ocean called Cow Pie Island.”

“Cow Pie Island?”

“Yes,” Dr. Telomere confirmed. “And that's exactly what it looked like. A lump of cow poop sitting in the middle of the ocean.”

I wrinkled my nose at the description.

“But there was something special about this island. Only one thing was said to grow on it—the hardiest variety of potatoes known on the planet—the legendary Cow Pie Golds.”

“Cow Pie Golds?” I repeated skeptically.

“That's really what they were called,” he insisted. “You'll just have to trust me on this one. Anyway, the crew had barely begun unloading their cargo of plants and animals when word somehow got out to the local population about the ship's next destination. Of course they completely misunderstood the purpose of the trip. They assumed the ship was on its way to an island rich in deposits of real gold.